


A & W

by nakanti



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-11-12 12:20:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18010784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nakanti/pseuds/nakanti





	A & W

Absence  
The smell of him is everywhere. It’s intoxicating almost to the point that it makes you shake, your breath quickening in your chest. He’s gone without a trace – no note, no stray hair. Just the smell of him in your shared apartment. His absence is temporary.

Broken  
Waking to screams from the next room and suddenly there’s a heavy weight pinning you against your mattress and hands at your throat, one warm and wet with sweat, the other cold, stronger than anything else you’d ever felt. Feral eyes, snarling lips above your face, turning dark. Then recognition. Guilt. Terror and tears. The fingers at your throat slacken and a small, broken voice whispers apologies over and over. Your heart breaks.

Caged  
It’s going to take time, you know that, if ever. He does well, better than you’d ever have hope. But sometimes you catch his eye and it hits you in the gut – his eyes dart around counting exits and cars and people and making note of every potential threat. You can’t blame him, not how long he’d been caged.

Destroyed  
The first time you see him shirtless, you’re brought to tears. You’ve been so desensitized, so used to seeing so much. But this is too much. The only thing keeping you from falling to your knees is the look in his eyes – defiant, trusting, loving, terrified. His chest where metal meets skin is destroyed with multicolored scars old and new spidering in ways you could never imagine. They’re from the Fall, the surgeries, the torture. You catch your breath and raise your hand too fast to map his skin – he flinches.

Endlessly  
One of the first times he touches you and it’s bliss. He whispers that he’s sorry he left you alone all those years ago, that he can’t do more, and you pull him closer. There are three words passed his lips, then another. Endlessly. you’re Captain America, the man frozen in time. You know better than most the meaning of the word. You know he does too. Your heart swells.

Forgotten  
There are memories – smells, tastes, sights, feelings, all so clear in your head. Memories you’d taken for granted, memories you now hold so dearly. You catch yourself each time reminiscing, and you internally flinch at the blank, lost look he gives you. Memories that you hold close, memories he had forgotten. Memories stolen. You lie and tell him that they’re meaningless, that you have forever to make more.

Gravity  
He’d never been scared of heights, had never had an issue with standing tall, prideful. He stands slumped now, straightening slightly only with your hand comforting against the small of his back. You’re standing with him at the launch pad attached to the side of the tall, gaudy tower, the warmth of his fingers nearly crushing yours. His breath is harsh and you see him shake. Heights and gravity, one memory that wasn’t stolen. One memory unable to be repressed. One memory unable to be forgotten.

Hesitant  
You were surprised with the touches at first, his hand shaking as it gripped yours. He wouldn’t look at you but instead would stare straight ahead, almost as if he was embarrassed. You gave him light squeezes with your fingers, and it became normal. You wake up with him next to you in bed after that, and the next month his arm slips around your waist while you wash dishes in your shared tower apartment. He’s not as hesitant in private anymore.

Iceberg  
It takes time for him to open up to you. The first time you hear him laugh you nearly cry, your heart pounding in your chest so abruptly that you momentarily wonder if an invincible man can have a heart attack. Or at least faint. He’s quiet around the others, guarded, and they don’t understand your joy. He reminds you of an iceberg – deeper and bigger than he’d ever let on, more beneath the surface that could ever be seen with the naked eye.

Jawline  
It’s something you’d noticed before, in passing, from an artist’s point of view. All sharp edges, all masculinity, and beauty. You still feel the slight twinge of envy from over 70 years ago, but it feels somehow different now. He lets you sketch him and you can’t help the way your eyes catch shadows and highlights. You swallow thickly and your hand stutters over paper, jagged line. He raises a brow slightly with a tilt of his head and you’re breathless.

Kiss  
He’s rough, stubble scratchy against your face. His lips are chapped and you’re suddenly not so sure all the stories he told you about the boys and girls from 70 years ago are true or if he’s just out of practice. You’re slow, gentle, hands grazing from his hips to his arms at his sides, up across his neck and jaw, and he’s so tense. Too tense. You pull back only slightly and he’s already on the defensive, eyes flashing hurt. You lean in again, gently this time, smiling against his lips. You can feel your heart slamming in your ears and you’re almost positive that he can hear it too. He’s still and you wonder if he’s okay, if the situation is okay, and you start to pull back before he make this noise in his throat, following you with metal and warmth gripping the bottom of your shirt. Your knees almost give out.

Loss  
He leaves again, and you’re panicked. You haven’t felt so helpless, so anxious in over 70 years. You shake and cry, his side of the bed cold. Empty. Untouched. It’s a few weeks and you yourself are cold, empty, untouched, pushing through days only so you can return to the dark embrace of sleep. You nearly give up hope and he comes home. He tells you he ran because he was scared. You hold him throughout the night without any sleep.

Moan  
You’re both sweating and the room is dark, pale moonlight spilling across ruined, broken skin. You could almost laugh at how truly cliché the moment is, metal fingers gripped tightly in your sheets while warm fingers thread through your hair. You’ve never seen anything more beautiful, more breathtaking, and you’ve never been so effected by a voice. His soft moans send shivers through your spine and you kiss him, kiss the moans out of him. You feel him shiver against you, too.

Nervous  
It’s been well over two years and he’s spent time around countless people, but he’s always been in hiding. Not literally, of course, only subtly enough that you notice. When there are others around he’s always a step behind you, or with something solid in front of himself. A barricade. A shield. You know those you’re closest with would never cause him harm, but you’re not sure if he does. He’s always got this edge to him, this catch. All the years in each other’s lives and you’d never seen him nervous. It almost takes you by surprise. But you see him learn and grow every day.

Orchid  
Bucky had never really been the sentimental type. There were times, on birthdays when you were younger, where you’d find sweet treats, sketchbooks, fancy bits of soap and shoe polish suddenly in your pockets, on your pillow, and he’d give you that shit-eating grin and tell you he had no idea what you were talking about. But you didn’t need those things anymore – neither of you did. Now, instead, here and there you’d find scraps of printed paper and silk cloth, exotic fruits and shiny rocks. Things he picked up and shoved in his pockets. Your favorite were the orchids. You don’t know where he got them, but once or twice a week you would wake up to a single, colorful flower on the bathroom counter, the windowsill in your bedroom, the kitchen island. They’re your new favorite flower.

Purple  
You notice a few raised brows while you walk through the tower, greeting your companions, and you wonder if there’s something in your teeth or if your hair is standing up funny. It’s not until Stark makes a comment and the youngest in the tower – Peter – gives a snort that you look at your reflection. You feel your left hand lift on it’s own and immediately slap to your neck, eyes wide and face reddening before you really have time to think, react. It would be faded and healed by the end of the day, but the spot is a harsh, deep purple. Who knew Captain America could get hickeys?

Quiet  
It wasn’t particularly odd how he kept to himself when so many others were around, offering only small, warm smiles and the occasional bits of conversation – when the two of you were young, you remember there being hours when he would sit and listen to you talk without much of a word. From growing up, to the war, to now when he tells you that he’s always loved the sound of your voice, how calming you’ve always been, how it’s his fondest memory. Your ears burn when you think of his words, about how he’s quiet around others to take comfort in your sounds. You make it a point to open up more, to talk and laugh whenever you can. His smile and the look in his eyes makes up for the team’s annoyance at your sudden inability to keep your mouth shut.

Razored  
You’re in a shared common area with others from your team when Natasha chokes on her coffee. You look up and see Thor’s brows raise, shot up to his hairline, with a scoff behind you. You turn and a giggle bubbles up over your lips as your heart skips a beat. Bucky is clearly annoyed, the bridge of his nose and his cheeks tinged red with heat. The stubble across his jaw and chin is gone, razored away, while his hair falls just to the top of his ears rather than down passed his shoulders. The last time he was this clean cut was when he Fell – you couldn’t tell the difference between him now and that day, other than the now obvious bulge of muscles under his clothes and the bright, polished plates of metal at his side. You tell him how stunning he looks before remembering the others in the room – he rolls his eyes and tells you he knows. Everyone else goes back about their own business with small, knowing smiles.

Safe  
Three years and he’s mostly at ease, comfortable in almost every scenario that he’s thrown into. Stark has a party to commemorate the anniversary of your team, and there’s only the slightest hunch to Bucky’s shoulders at the people touching his arms and hands, offering congratulations. It’s later on that night that he grins against your lips, flesh fingers at the nape of your neck holding you close while metal ones graze under your shirt against the waistband of your slacks that he tells you this is the first time he’s felt really, truly safe in over 80 years now. You vow, then and there, Officially, that you’ll do whatever it takes to keep him safe until the end of time. He presses closer to you and tells you that he knows that now, that you two have forever together.

Tuxedos  
You’ve never seen him so well dressed, and you’re sure that you yourself have never been so well dressed either. You’re standing at the end of an aisle, a tear in your eye and your heart full, hand squeezed tightly around cold, metal fingers. You meet Dr. Banner’s – Bruce’s – eye and nod slightly – he nods back with the biggest smile you’ve ever seen on his face, wiping his own tears. In front of you, Natasha is more beautiful that you’ve ever seen her before, voice soft and hands clasped with Bruce’s. They share a kiss and Bucky whoops and hollers behind you, the small ceremony crowd breaking into cheers. Behind Bruce on the other side of the aisle, you catch Thor, tall and proud and blonde and beautiful, point between you and Bucky. You think you see him mouth the word ‘next,’ but you can’t say for sure.

Uniform  
Five years, and your team has greys in their hair and wrinkles at the corners of their mouths and eyes. You and Bucky still don’t look a day over 30, and a lot of missions have been run with the newer, younger members of the team. It’s a hard sacrifice for you both, but you’re ready and passed due for a break. Temporary retirement. Bucky has a comforting hand at the small of your back while you lock away the red, white, and blue stars and stripes of your uniform. You feel a mix of guilt and relief, and you rest easy only in the fact that your suit and shield would be kept safe, secure until you needed them again. You would never have been able to do it without Bucky at your side.

Visible  
You watched over the years how your best friend turned into the best shot on your squadron, into a dead man, into a memory, into a ghost story, into invisible while he healed. You’re not sure he will ever go back to how he was before the Fall – you’re not sure you’d ever want that version of him back, not with the leaps and bounds the two of you had grown over the years. You watched him grow from flinching, hiding in corners and shadows, running away, waking and screaming with nightmares, to standing straight and tall and proud, laughing and joking, poking fun and wrestling with your friends. Your team. You watched him grow, learn again to love and to trust. To become visible. 

Wedding  
You never in a million years saw yourself actually being married. There were times, with Peggy, that it crossed your mind, but the thoughts were fleeting. Your wedding isn’t traditional, but what in your life and relationship ever was? Bucky stands across from you with an easy, relaxed grin on his face that you match. Loki – of all people – stands between the two of you because what could ever mean more than being joined, officially, forever, by an enemy turned friend, by a God? Bucky’s lips part in an even wider smile against yours when you kiss and you feel like you’re going to go deaf over the cheers of your friends, your family. Your knees feel weak, and Bucky is finally glowing.


End file.
